Loneliness of a Creature
by annaisadinosaur
Summary: There are many things house elves do not know much about, and one of those things is family.


The only sound in the room was the tap spilling water into the bath and Regulus's muffled whimpers. Kreacher had been told that he was to care for young Master Regulus's wounds, and he was doing that, but the nine-year-old was about as noisy as a Banshee. The sounds of his protests echoed down the soundless corridor, which made removing the glass from his hands about ten degrees more difficult.

Eventually, though, the boy became situated enough, and pulling the feathers out of his matted, tangled hair didn't prove to be nearly as challenging or painful for either of them. Regulus and Sirius had snuck out late that night, and Kreacher knew that whenever young Master Sirius was involved in any way with Regulus that things became disastrous. His mistress had been so distraught when she'd discovered Regulus after their fight, all torn up with the broken glass from the window. She'd yelled an awful lot about the fallen bookshelf and the ripped up pillows, too, but more so about how Sirius's magic always did more harm than good. Particularly for his younger brother.

Kreacher was scowling at the thought when he realized Regulus's shoulders were trembling, and he turned off the tap. "Is Master Regulus in pain?" he asked.

"No," replied Regulus, feebly. The bath was swimming with the little white feathers from his hair, and bits stuck to his skin without his notice. He was currently staring at the foot of the bath with his eyes entirely unfocused. A moment later, he turned his gaze upwards and said, "Kreacher, do you suppose Sirius is very angry with me?"

The house elf grunted. "Kreacher reckons Master Regulus should be very angry with Master Sirius for what he has done to his hands!"

"He didn't mean to," said Regulus, and balled up his fists, as if to hide the evidence. "He's just stronger than me, that's all. I wish I could do magic like him. Perhaps then I wouldn't have gotten hurt. And I don't—I don't actually care about that so much. I'm worried that if he's in trouble with my parents that he'll be unhappy with me."

"Master Regulus should be unhappy with Master Sirius," Kreacher echoed once more.

"Either way, I don't fancy the idea," said Regulus. "He'll ignore me as he always does and then I'll be alone. I really..." He sighed, his whole chest expanding and falling dramatically. "I really _hate _being alone."

Then there was only silence for a long stretch of time. Kreacher didn't know what sort of response that deserved, so he'd kept to scrubbing the dirt off Regulus's back. He was only slightly disgruntled when Regulus began to talk again.

"Did you ever have a family, Kreacher?"

"Yes, sir," he said. "Once."

"A real family, though? With lots of brothers and sisters?"

"No. Kreacher was the only one."

"So you must know then. What it's like. All this loneliness when you're alone. Mother says they're not the same thing, you know," Regulus told him, "'lonely' and 'alone,' that is. She tells me I should like being alone because then I'm not ever distracted. But I don't know what that means. Aren't you ever lonely, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher isn't alone, Master Black. He serves the Black family."

"Oh. No," said Regulus, quietly. "I suppose you wouldn't know then." The already dim expression slid from his face as he slid a little further into the bath.

. . .

Four dozen dinner plates stood stacked on the kitchen counter, and only about half a dozen left until Kreacher could begin to stow them away. He enjoyed Black family feasts. Cooking was rather enjoyable for him, and he liked to think he was good at it, too, but after every Black family feast he was given a rather enjoyable meal of his own, and it always put him to tears.

Only not right that moment, as he happened to be very busy with the aftermath of the dinner. Plates and utensils were swinging about all through the air when Regulus walked through the kitchen doors—and let out a yelp as a plate crashed against his head.

"Oh—Master Regulus!" Kreacher cried out in alarm. In the past years, Regulus had grown significantly taller, and he had to crane his neck to get through the small kitchen door. No Blacks had ever stepped through it, in fact, other than Regulus, who did so quite frequently when his parents were not around. "Kreacher didn't know you were paying him a visit—so sorry, many apologies! Is Master bleeding? Kreacher will have a look at it..."

"No, no, I'm—here, no, really—"

"Kreacher can clean up the plate, Master Regulus! Please sit down; if he feels faint or dizzy, mistress will be very unhappy with Kreacher and—"

"Kreacher, stop," said Regulus, with more force. He did so immediately, letting the fragments of the plate fall onto the tabletop. He stared wide-eyed at Regulus, waiting for another order. "I'm all right. I only wanted to tell you good-bye before tomorrow morning, as I don't know if I'll be seeing you then. You can carry on if you'd like. I didn't mean to bother you."

He did this often, Regulus. Every year before he went off to school, the night of his parent's grand feast. Kreacher had asked him why he did it many times in the past, but he'd never received a real answer, and now he just deliberately ignored the oddities altogether.

"Kreacher will pack up Master Regulus's things tonight for the train," he said quickly, as he busied himself by cleaning up the mess. "Kreacher only has to finish the dishes and then he will gather all of Master's robes. They're all already clean and pressed. Kreacher just has to fetch them from—"

"It's all right, Kreacher," said Regulus, and gave him a small smile. He placed his hand on the door as if he meant to leave soon. "I only wanted to say something to you in case I didn't have the chance later. Don't worry about it, all right?"

Kreacher had come to understand questions like "all right," coming from Regulus, were not meant to really be answered. He'd grown to learn small people things like this after Master Sirius had run away from home and Master Regulus asked for Kreacher's help more often. He had many things to do, for Grimmauld Place was a very large house and there were many important elf-duties to be done, but Master Regulus had asked him. And Master Regulus happened to be a favorite of Kreacher's, simply because Kreacher seemed to be a favorite of Master Regulus's.

So Kreacher nodded, only slightly, and gave a deep bow.

"Bye then," Regulus said, and disappeared behind the door.

. . .

It was years later, and Kreacher would never imagine he'd be in that cave again, not like he was then, with his Master beside him, so much older, so much wiser, so much braver. The damp walls seemed to echo like a long corridor in his Master's home, like it always did when Regulus splashed the water in his bath or protested the cold water too loudly.

But that was a while gone now. Now they were standing at the end of a corridor. A figurative one, though Kreacher didn't know what that meant. They'd crossed the eerie lake and he'd thought of baths and feathers and shards of glass. Now he waited for the orders that he knew were coming, only he didn't know which ones they would be.

Staring at the wall, Regulus's hands were trembling terribly. Kreacher wondered how he even stood like that, but of course said nothing of the sort. He watched his Master bite his lips, run his hands through his hair, sigh and through his arms down, like he was thinking too hard and couldn't decide. But then he stopped, and his eyes became fierce. Scary, they might have been, if Kreacher didn't know him well enough.

"Kreacher," said Regulus finally, and took from his pocket a locket in the exact shape as the Dark Lord's. Kreacher's eyes were wide and white as Regulus put it in Kreacher's open hands. "Take this. When the basin is empty," he said, speaking of the dark potion he unfortunately knew the taste of all too well, "switch the lockets and leave. Do not come back, and do not tell Mother what has happened to me. Just destroy the locket and never tell her where I've gone."

"Master will be—"

"Do this for me, Kreacher, and don't ask any questions," he said. "All right?"

And so Kreacher's hands trembled too as he bowed in obedience. He watched, horrorstruck and torn as Regulus cried out in pain. The moments all blurred together later: the potion, gone, the beating locket in his hands, and then, Master Regulus, sinking into to the water like he was taking a bath... but _dragged_.

And then it was over. He was gone.

. . .

Kreacher pressed a kiss into the palm of his hand and pressed it against the cold stone. Never before had he come to visit Regulus's spot in the family cemetery. He'd never been permitted before and had never really seen a reason to, but he wanted to see his Master one last time, and he would never, ever return to that cave.

He stared at the engraving in the stone that he knew to say Master Regulus's name. He wished he could happily tell his Master that the war was over and done, that the Dark Lord had gone and that Master Regulus could return, but he saw no use in that. He had not bathed yet since the battle, and his small body was covered in the debris of war. It was appropriate for him, he thought, and it might tell him the message well enough.

In the quiet cemetery, a house elf mourned a wizard long gone. A strange sight, he knew, but he had seen stranger things in the past year. He thought this and rung his arms tightly around himself. On his face was a single streak of clean skin where a single tear fell.

Instead, he chose to say, "Master Regulus was very brave and very wise, even when he was very young. Because Kreacher has been alone for awhile now, Master, and he is very lonely."


End file.
